Reviews Coming Soon

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Recently, a small progressive rock grenade went off on bandcamp. It
happened when The Omega Experiment digitally self-released their debut
album and, as word spread, Listenable Records’ interest was piqued and a
deal was inked. A few months down the line and this Michigan trio are
ready for lift-off with this re-released physical copy – it’s about time
we gave you the lowdown on it then.

Now, what makes this one stand out about above most is the album’s
general tone. It’s an upbeat pastiche of jagged strings and euphoric
synths and comes with energy in abundance. At times, you’ll find
yourself overwhelmed by it as unconfined joy washes over you in layers.
The whole vehicle stands on the strength of its lush, interwoven vocals
and recorded spoken interviews – the latter technique reminds me of
those ambiguous ripped radio edits that pop up on groovy lounge albums
performed by the likes of Lemon Jelly and Bombay Monkey.

Kicking us off, “Gift” hits like a twenty-foot breaker; wide as an
aircraft carrier, deep as the ocean itself. The enormity of it is
staggering as it echoes through euphoric builds and poppy hooks. It’s
instantly reminiscent of the vast soundscapes created by musical genii
like Devin Townsend and Jim Matheos (this eloquently echoes his O.S.I.
project for many different reasons). Dan Wieten’s multi-tracked, subtly
whining vocals search out catchy, flamboyant flourishes and harmonic
peaks to really drive home each set of lyrics (all of which are kept
deliberately vague to allow you to apply your own assumptions). Through
the hearty emotion and crushing drums of tracks like “Stimulus” and
“Bliss” they begin to bed down to a place where they echo the rich,
complex structures of certain so-called ambidjent bands such as
Tesseract, Vildhjarta and Chimp Spanner.

And yet, it’s only in the angrier clutches of “Furor” and “Karma”, at
moments when the thudding guitar dissonance steps up to lay it on thick
and heavy and the vocal becomes a disembodied roar, that they begin to
really display their full potential with some mind-mangling complexity
of structure and mean tech skills to boot. Hell, they’re dipping their
toes in Between The Buried And Me and The Contortionist territory here.
It’s the instrumentals too that offer up a chance to impress but they
don’t lay themselves as bare here as expected (we have to wait until the
subtle pop spin and gentle psych of “Terminus” for that to occur), but
it is here that they are found a little wanting. The jokingly-titled
“Tranquility”, with its infuriatingly-repetitive one-liner and
cacophonous climax is a weak spot, and “Bliss” which throws two
different spoken-word scripts at you, one in one ear and one in the
other, turns your brain to blancmange.

It’s not just a clown of an album; it’s the complete circus. There
are all sorts of high-wire antics as guitars are juggled and pounding
cannons sound off to the tune of the ringmaster. There are even comedic
skits where the candied synth tries, unsuccessfully, to steal the
spotlight. Then, as the show draws to a close, the thumping dance
euphoria of “Paramount” raises the roof and drops like the final piece
in the jigsaw. Yes, you can be certain you’ve got your money’s worth
with this one.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

The Welsh band Funeral For A Friend
have never been ones to rest on their laurels. Generally accepted as a
hard-hitting rock group, they have explored a penchant for the
alternative and the emotional, to one that conjures easily-accessible,
enigmatic, heart-bursting anthems. Now with Rise To Remain’s old drummer, Pat Lundy, on board, they appear ready to travel the Conduit to locate their inner punk.

Without doubt, it’s an album that still features, to some degree, the
band’s driven melody, gorgeously rich harmonies and addictive choruses
but there is a definite shift of focus towards metal and hardcore.
Vocalist Matthew Davies recently neatly summarised the change with the
words “it’s a post-hardcore record that is not afraid to drop into some
hardcore for good measure.”

Former band member Matthew “Snowskull” Evans has painted a startling cover for Conduit that is oddly reminiscent, like some of those old Slayer albums or Trey Moseley’s artwork for The Chariot’s One Wing.
Rest assured though, FFAF’s songwriting hasn’t gone anything like as
deep into the chaos as those particular bands regularly do. Despite
Davies’ assertions, these additions to the music do feel somewhat forced
at times – initially, you may wince at the irksome slips from
boisterous verse into slick chorus (lead single “Best Friends and
Hospital Beds” and “Travelled” are in a league of their own), but
ignoring this, it’s still a clear statement of intent and one that does
need multiple plays before sound judgement can be passed.

They certainly don’t go off half-cocked at this crossover monster –
even their usually high-end production has trimmed a little off the
sides to make way for the added gristle. It’s a full-bore attempt to
interweave both their rough and smooth edges and when they manage to
segue the two styles effectively the songs can invigorate you. Some go
in harder (bruisers like the title-track, “Death Comes To Us All” and
“High Castles”), but there’s still plenty of rousing sing-a-long
choruses to grab onto. They come thick and fast with “Spine”, “Best
Friends…” and “Nails” all liberally doused in colourful, soaring
harmonies. What the contrast has highlighted is the minor limitations of
Davies’ vocal. There’s no denying his passion, but every now and then,
when he peaks and reaches up to hawk out another yelp of anger, his
pitch and tone become painfully strained – as an example, the line “How
many friends can I lose before it all makes sense” catches him out every
single time.

Thankfully, the complex, technical guitar melodics do help to bolster
this weakness in his delivery. They form the kind of backdrops that
Sylosis would be proud of. One particularly memorable example lies in
the jarringly-angular closing segment of “Nails”. The gentle build,
tight-as-fuck chorus and crushing ‘core elements are all implemented
magnificently. It’s these multiple hues that stick it on a pedestal.

As you journey through, there emerges a noticeable overall lack of
track variation but it’s hard to deny the momentum that FFAF build
throughout. You do have to wait for “Elements” to provide the deviation
the album craves. It really would be the perfect closing track; not
overstaying its welcome and melodically-enduring with a gently warbling
fade-out. Well, it would be, except that the Hatebreed-lite
metalcore tactics of “High Castles” take the honour – “Our words are
weapons, they are our shield, our words are weapons, fist by fucking
fist” – with over-eager call-and response chicanery.

Having screamed back from the edge of the creative abyss with 2011′s cracking Welcome Home Armageddon, to head back to their EP days and begin re-establishing their love of punk and hardcore makes Conduit
a risky album for FFAF to write at this moment in time. Even more so,
when you consider just how much metalcore influence there is on this and
how much that particular genre has taken a battering over recent years.
Thankfully, none of that matters much. There is just enough true grit
and spirit powering this offering to really warrant that risk. Conduit is a whole different beast but, most importantly, it’s an album that’s honest and committed and deserving of your attention.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Psychopunch’s Smakk Valley may sound venemous and slightly
seedy, but it’s actually all rolling punk with pop sensibilities. A set
of driven tracks, coated in colour and bolstered with a strong sense of
fun. An amalgamation of Green Day, The Wildhearts, The Ramones and
Bowling For Soup, it comes as no surprise to me that these Swedish
stalwarts have remained below my radar despite the nine other albums
they’ve churned out between 1999 and 2010. Sounding a little old hat
now, much of what they do sticks firmly to the power-pop basics of get
in fast, raise the roof, and get out.

With 14 tracks of fast rhythms, verse-chorus-verse structure,
predictably simple lyrics and straight-up 4/4 beats, what you see is
what you get. Vocally, frontman / guitarist JM certainly gets plenty of
backing, both in the polished production and from his band-mates who
lather on a swathe of “oohs” and “aahs”. This has always been the kind
of music best heard live, so it feels slightly unfair judging them from
the depths of my cold, mid-Winter abode. I’ll try and be gentle.

They all kick off the show by getting fast and wild for “Back Of My
Car”. It’s a track that toys with going full-Nirvana on us with a
sequence of “Territorial Pissings”-chords for the verse, only to then
cut the charade and shift into full Bowling For Soup mode. There’s a
slide down into half-reggae for “So Jaded” that will make you smile, but
from here they slip straight into auto-pilot with a sequence of songs
that battle each other for worst lyrics and most obvious structure. The
medium-pacer “Last Night” wins the former category with the line “Last
night it really wasn’t me / I had too much to drink / Baby, can’t you
see / It was the Hennessy” and “Sitting By The Railroad” wins the latter
with its ghastly backing vocals and dire four-chord rotation.

Their creative peak hits somewhere in the middle. JM’s thick, throaty
growl cuts up superbly for the heads-down rocker “Dead By Dawn” giving
it a dangerous, Ramones-esque edge. All worn leather and cigarettes,
howling guitars and pounding skins, this one breathes life back into the
whole shebang. “Smack Valley Train” gets its New York Dolls-snarl on in
the verses before flicking up into a bold major chord for another
over-eager, slickly fluorescent chorus. The bridge interestingly gets a
dose of Maiden-esque guitar licks to add to the pile whilst “Emilie”
ducks back into brainless hammering and off we go again for another
round of pogoing. Closer “You’re Totally Mistaken” ups the ante again
and stands out as a bit of a moody crusher, soaking itself in feedback,
with deep pinged bass and a ripped, singalong chorus – Psychopunch are a
band that definitely benefits from throwing in minor chords. Each time
they up their dark quotient, they add guile and emotion to what,
effectively, is an album that runs straight and true.

Now, this constructive criticism is all well and good at the end of
the day but what has impressed me most about the band is their
philosophy. It dominates everything here and this is the reason you need
to take notice of because there are so many fakers out there. JM sums
it up with the words: “We don’t think our attitude has changed over the
years in terms of wanting to be a great live band that makes people
happy and gives them a chance to forget about their problems.” How can
you criticise a band with that outlook on making music? It’s like
happy-slapping a puppy.

End of the day, Smakk Valley isn’t an album without fault but
that doesn’t mean it’s not a riot – it could be gold dust for fans of
any of the aforementioned bands. Perhaps it wasn’t my cup of Joe this
week, but the next time I feel like letting loose and partying hearty,
I’ll be checking my local listings for a band called Psychopunch because
I know I’ll have a good time at their show.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Never has anything needed your attention as much as this stunning series of 7" splits. If you can't find a band to cherish on this little lot, you need your head examining.Here's the lowdown...

Hell Comes Home's split
series simply titled "Volume 1", is now complete and available for
purchase as a limited edition box-set. This collection of new and
unreleased music, includes 12 splits 7" released in 2012 individually or
as part of a subscription club.
Each 7" has been beautifully illustrated by Kuba Sokolski (www.kubasokolski.com).

Friday, January 11, 2013

Once upon a time, whilst walking through a park, a good friend of
mine was hassled by a drunk youth for money. Now, usually my mate would
run a mile but, at the time, he happened to be listening to Hatebreed on
his non-specific portable media player, so instead he proceeded to wind
the volume up and dish out a beating that he never thought was in him.
He’s sworn himself off the band now and has since become a pacifist.
Okay, the last bit of that shaggy dog story was made up (he’s still a
total nutjob who loves Hatebreed more than he loves himself – and that’s
saying something), but it is a true, if slightly skewed, tale that
highlights just how affecting heavy music can be.

Perfectly monikered, the volatile tunage that Hatebreed write, has been specifically designed to breed hate. Unsurprisingly, The Divinity Of Purpose
is no different to the rest of their back catalogue, featuring lyrical
content that shows these kings of bulging angst remain 100% dedicated to
grabbing hold of you by the balls, tearing open your eyes to the grim
reality of life today, and strengthening your resolve to it. Think of it
as a two-part process. Firstly, they help you realise your weaknesses
through association and, secondly, they supply the lyrical tools to
empower you by suggesting you use, usually violent, counter-measures to
correct your problems. Listening to Hatebreed is like having “Stone
Cold” Steve Austin as your counsellor.

As time has passed and their discography has grown, these continual
mind grenades should have got a lot older, a lot quicker, but the
monster hooks they write and the methods they employ to suck you in, are
just so goddamn addictive. From jinking breakdowns and barbaric,
pounding rhythms to the vocal fury of call-and-response and the
constant, monotonous barracking all suck you into screaming your lungs
out, fist-throwing and pitting like you’ve never pitted before.

Take opener “Put It To The Torch” with its thrash-and-core,
vein-bulging angst. It’s a simple, 2-minute assertion of dominance
designed to incite total mayhem. The track rips straight through to the
even harder smackdown of “Honor Never Dies” with hardly a pause for
breath. The emotional forethought of how these songs would sound live is
palpable. Take the chorus repetition of the purposeful title-track.
There’s even a spoken-to-screamed building crescendo wedged in there.
The fury of the pit that will explode on the smack of that snare as it
all kicks off again is palpable. “Before The Fight Ends You” could have
been written with my mate specifically in mind. It’s all remarkably
straightforward and to the point with a chorus of “End the fight /
Before the fight ends you!”, but that’s Hatebreed all over. And that’s The Divinity Of Purpose all over.

Unlike their last self-titled effort, there is no drop in pace, no
“Every Lasting Scar” downtime. Without doubt, the album does what it
says on the tin. It’s a savage, single-minded entity. The
Renaissance-stylized artwork alone (created by painter Eliran Kantor)
tells you just how serious they are about this merciless mission they
are on. This is their religion and that’s the main reason why this comes
recommended as one of their finer assaults. Having said that, the
album’s main strength is also its biggest weakness. The sheer brute
force of it is overwhelmingly predictable; one that lacks any level of
sophistication or experimentation. Yes, perhaps with this album marking
out Hatebreed’s 19th year, they should have offered something fresh, but
to go against the grain now, not fully committed, and get it wrong
might just ruin their iconic status – then who would my friend turn to
when life deals him yet another shitty hand?

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

You might think Clamfight
would be named by a collection of mollusk-loving foodies, but I fear
their name comes from something far more seedy. The revelation that “the
name was conceived whilst watching an influential movie” isn’t a
complete surprise then, nor the tit-bit about them not wanting to “get
into which movie or what scene”. I bet they don’t, dirty boys.

These East Coast crushers display all the hallmarks of both High On Fire’s shouty, sludgy, all-encompassing thrum and Saviours’
punk quirks and strong urge to break into galloping rhythms. It’s a
hefty combination and one that deserves the good head-jerking that you
will inevitably grant it. As is the case with both the aforementioned
bands, Andy Martin’s wild vocals often gets a good smothering and as a
consequence the lyrical content is often tough to pick out – I believe
“I vs. The Glacier” has a peek-a-boo line that sounds like “Winners for
years” or it could be “Witness four ears”. Your guess is as good as
mine. It does however feature an enigmatic, visceral lead and a spot of
downtime that wobbles and howls as it plays its psychedelic mind games.

“The Eagle” is pure riff; crushing, vitriolic and Neanderthal. It is
the beast that will carve a mile-wide rut across your mind, whilst
“Sandriders” thunders along at a fair lick, the vocals snapping at your
heels, the drums’ reverberating thunder, the whole vehicle careering
from side to side before slipping back into a swagger. “River Of Ice”,
on the other hand, steadily chimes along a single chord, pulses like a
heartbeat and features some neat, warbling cosmic touches. Every
element, including that nagging underscore, all scream out Mastodon. These tracks are all hefty statements of intent; slaps of the glove across the cheeks of their peers.

Other highlights come in the form of the rock-a-saurus mosh of “I vs.
The Glacier” and the much angrier blast of “Shadow Line”. This latter
monster displays Bison B C’s tendency to stray mid-song – part-groove, part-braying, roaring insanity – it’s also the sound of Motorhead’s
Lemmy being trampled underfoot. There’s the odd weak spot, glaringly
the odd instrumental “Tower Of The Elephant II” (named “The Green Gods
Of Yag” on this promo) which adds very little to the pile, but you
couldn’t really accuse them of using it to pad out the album because of
the variety of attack on offer.

Also, I haven’t seen an album with such an intriguing tracklist as
this in a long time. Seriously, run your eyes down that list. Even
before you’ve heard it you just know “Age Of Reptiles” is going to sound
swampy, stompy and like its full of teeth (it does) and “Stealing The
Ghost Horse” will undoubtedly get its blackened doom on (it does, in a Crowbar-y
sort of way). All the song titles get the mind racing, conjuring enough
images to demand further investigation. If it’s the last thing I do,
I’m going to eventually get hold of a lyric sheet. All that remains to
be said is… you’d better have your flamethrowers at the ready, folks.
This is one mean opponent. I Versus The Glacier – Round One. Ding ding!